Hitchcock's first American movie, a word, American that is, that should be put in quotes because as Hitchcock pointed out, all of the cast and almost all of the crew were British. The film has already garnered so many comments that I'll avoid repeating most of them. The plot I'm sure has been thoroughly outlined and professionally analyzed but a few points are worth emphasis.
The plot of very precisely structured. It consists basically of a man who is the dream of many women in the 1940s audience: ruggedly handsome, intelligent, keen witted, a bit commanding but not too much, fabulously wealthy, a touch roguish, and mysterious. It's the mystery that provides the plot engine. Every incident of his past emotional life needs to be pried out of Maxim deWinter (what a name, suggesting frigidity and distance) as if it were an abcessed tooth. Each secret, as he reveals it, is a surprise to his wife. Except for the final secret uncovered in the plot, which surprises everybody. Maxim could clear the whole mystery up with an hour's worth of private conversation with his wife. But of course he doesn't, or else there would be no story. That's why Hamlet takes so long to slaughter Claudius. And why the Indians don't shoot the horses as they're chasing the stagecoach.
The acting. Olivier is extremely good at impersonating deWinter with all his charm and challenge. George Sanders is the best cad that the movies ever produced, and he proves it again here. Mrs. Danvers has a face and an expression that looks like an ice sculpture. The implicit lesbianism in her character of course had to remain implicit, but it is still rather a shock when she tenderly unfolds Mrs. DeWinter's nightie and says smoothly, "Look, you can see my hand through it." As for Joan Fontaine, a friend in Ireland said of her performance, "She does the shivering wife very well." Precisely put. With her delicate bone structure, fragile looking limbs, and her overall ikabani flower arrangement appearance, her wide asymmetrical eyes, with one brow arching up over her pale forehead, she looks about to faint with fright through half the movie. The only thing coarse about her is her wardrobe: bulky knit sweaters over her girlish bosom, long flapping drab skirts over her small but saucy rump, and those clodhoppers she wears while clunking about the house. She does the shivering naif in at least two other films of the period -- Hitchcock's "Suspicion" and "Jane Eyre." In fact, rummaging through the disarranged attic that is my long-term memory, I can't really remember her "doing" any other role.
It's the closest Hitchcock ever came to making what was then called "a woman's picture." It received a "best picture" Oscar, which went to Selznick. Something Hitchcock seemed to resent for the remainder of his life. It was a commercial and critical success and it deserved to be.
